


Murphy's Law of EMT

by Fountain_pen



Series: The Murphy Series [5]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15790083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fountain_pen/pseuds/Fountain_pen
Summary: "There is no such thing as a Text Book Case"A collection of one shots in alternate universes surrounding Bruce and Natasha.





	Murphy's Law of EMT

From the entrance of the dining hall which held a kitchenette, perhaps a kitchen by normal standards but a little too modestly civilian for the extravagance of Stark Tower and hence kitchenette, Natasha could catch the back of the man who was conjuring up the scent that had lured her into the very floor at, what the blinking screen indicated, 3:12 in the morning.

The man isn’t tall, regardless still topped a good 5 inches over her and has thick curly hair which Natasha instantly decided she’d already gotten a soft likening for. He’s wearing black slacks and a crumpled white shirt that hints that the man too had not yet closed his eyes for the day.

The room is filled with the methodical sound of a knife against the kitchen board - it’s experienced yet unhurried, unlike Clint’s rushed one rooted by his lack of patience that bared its teeth whenever he was hangry. Sometimes something as simple as the sound of chopping vegetables revealed, to the beholder, traits of the subject.

She continues to observe the man, unwilling to bother him from a task that had somehow mesmerized her just by sound. She lets the methodical chops soothe her.

From the corner of her eyes, she spots a wine cooler, slick and black - Perhaps, she could propose a trade. When the chopping halts to a satisfying end, she drops the ball, “I could match a wine that could go well with that.”

The stranger twirls around, knife and all. The pull of his eyebrows and the tentative smile plastered across his face exhibits a battle between a surprise and an apology, conceivably for his lack of awareness. Although, it’s hardly his fault.

“Natasha. Former Agent. Freelance consultant for Stark.” She could have easily deviated, crafted an identity to match her presence. But she doesn’t have to do those anymore and she’s trying to learn how to enjoy that freedom - it feels more like being caught with an empty cup. Hollow, she thinks.

The stranger answers accordingly, although not much is revealed, “Bruce. Former professor and, umm, something similar.”

He offers a hand and looks bewildered when he realizes that within his clutch remains a kitchen knife. She’d assure him that a kitchen knife wouldn’t do her much harm but he seems bewildered enough. Scaring him away isn’t really the goal.

“And sure, I’d like that.” He says when they finally shake hands, as if only then he’d realized she’d offered a preposition.

The rich aroma of spices dance around the room and when Natasha releases the wine with a pop, there comes, through the open bottle, a citrus scent that joins the spice in its dance, perfecting a beautiful waltz. It is then Bruce decides to give it a go.

The curry is savoury, spicy and sweet. The prawn is a delight against the softness of the coconut milk, the rice creamy yet present. Natasha is rather satisfied with her choice of wine; it blends well with the curry, refreshing the spice yet not undermining it.

It seems he’s satisfied as well. He beats her to a punch at complimenting it, “Brilliant.” He says with awe that makes Natasha swallow back her words with the scrape of her tongue.

“Is this your special talent?” he asks, as if it has to be. “Special talent?” she asks, smiling into her glass - she’s pleased to know he shares her sentiment but is even more curious about his word choice.

“It’s an untold requirement into Stark Tower.” He states, downing another glass. She pours him some more and receives a thanks. “And infinite patience.” He adds as an afterthought. “and infinite patience.” She affirms. They cheers to that, glasses kissing to a clink.

He gives her an extra piece of shrimp from the pot and promises French when she reveals that she had hacked Jarvis a few years back. He seems to be familiar with the story yet completely content to hear it again. The smile he gives her is genuine, as genuine as his compliment for her choice of wine, one that reaches his eyes. She likes it, she realizes.

**Author's Note:**

> "There is no such thing as a Text Book Case"


End file.
